


New Arrivals

by puella_peanut



Category: God's Own Country
Genre: M/M, i just really like nan okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 14:11:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16243262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puella_peanut/pseuds/puella_peanut
Summary: "There's room been made for this, so I expect things to keep."His eyes flick up to meet hers, looking at a woman with lines pressed on her face, and grey woven in her hair, and a lifetime of care held in the hands wrapped around an old cup. "I think it will," Gheorghe says softly. He places his palm over hers, and pulls away. No one will know it but themselves.(In which Nan makes room in her kitchen for cheese and Gheorghe.)





	New Arrivals

By the time they return, rain clouds have curled around the sky, the wheel of homemade cheese has been remade into a wedge, and the red ribbon placed on the table is a faded affair. But such things have been a while coming, Deidre allows, as she opens a new pack of chocolate biscuits, and pushes sugar bowl, jar, and tongs nearer towards her grandson and Gheorghe. Martin, beside her, cannot make much use of them without some assistance, but between the other two, a biscuit is dipped, cream is sloshed, and too many lumps are rapidly selected for one cup, melting with enthusiasm when they are tossed into the tea.

Deidre hides the slight upturn of her lips as she tips the kettle for Martin and herself—she is used to their tastes by now. She knows what they like.

"Second place, Da, Nan," Johnny says over his cup after he's scalded his tongue as usual—it's either stubbornness, or simply that patience has been unevenly distributed across the contours of his personality. Deidre is of the opinion that the answer straddles both options. "Fair enough, yeah? Not too shabby, I s'pose. Took a liking to it they did, down market, didn't they Gheorghe?" 

"They did," Gheorghe agrees, biscuit in hand, a thoughtful look on his face. He at least has the sense to let the biscuit take the burn, rather than his tongue. Practical. "More than I was thinking."

"It's, new, but...good," Martin manages, voice rigid. Compressed as his talking is nowadays, it still takes effort to push the words past his lips from the second stroke that fights to pull them back into silence. It's true, he's not got worse—and it's truer still that he has not got better either. "...New...good," he repeats, stubborn. That at the very least, has stayed consistent.

Deidre blows on her tea, tries the smallest of sips, takes another. "Locals aren't used to the taste around here. They prefer the familiarity of their own cheese. I'm surprised it even took in the first place, down at the village."

Johnny stirs in another sugar-cube with his finger, though Deidre has left the spoons out just for that reason. She ignores him when he rubs the sting from his pinky on the thigh of his jeans. "Things change, Nan. Even all the way here."

True enough, that. Still she nods, her teaspoon clinking against the cup as she stirs in more cream, and leaves the sugar untouched. "Bought what you needed then, while you were there, now that you know this can work?"

"We ended up placing an order," Gheorghe says, second biscuit in hand, Johnny in his eyes, "to be delivered here."

Johnny pops a cube into his mouth, drops his hands to his lap, dusts his fingers on the floor. Conspicuous in his attempts at being inconspicuous. He'll be sweeping that up himself, Deidre frowns.

"Yeah 'cause the ones on display weren't to Gheorghe's fancy tastes."

"Nor yours," but there's a smile falling from the words which Johnny catches with his own grin. Not so rare, nowadays. "The woman seemed surprised when told what was wanted."

"I don't blame her," Deidre admits after a slight pause, while Martin mumbles into his cup. Above the house, the sky groans, and the wind knocks across the kitchen windows. The glass shudders, but the latches will hold, Deidre's made certain of that. "New bedframe is one thing, cheese-fridge another. Left her wondering what they would be used for, between you both, I s'pose."

Johnny raises his eyebrows. "Not too many blokes around here get into the sheep-cheese business, I reckon."

"We thought it best to let her draw own conclusion," Gheorghe mentions.

Outside, twilight's settling in fast across the moor, as if running a race with the storm. The room dims as the day fades, and the legs of Gheorghe's chair grunt against the floor as he gets up, reaching for the light switch near the doorway. He's a thoughtful lad. It's rubbed off some on Johnny—Deidre's been noticing it scattered around in unexpected bursts, and notices it again now as he tilts the kettle, filling his, Martin's, and Gheorghe's cups again. Steam rises from the still-hot tea and settles, a cozy apple-red, in his cheeks, and chin, and the tip of his nose.

"Just as long as we have your blessing," he lifts his eyes to meet hers, saying one thing, asking for another. "We know how hard it was for you to part with your kitchen especially, Nan."

Martin nods to everything and squeezes out a yes, but Deidre says, "Not parting, sharing," because the difference is important. And if he doesn't stop pouring, she thinks, looking at her grandson which is reason enough to ignore another look from the doorway—he'll find himself with both mess and ragcloth in hand in a moment, because she certainly won't be doing so. But Johnny stops just in time, and Gheorghe settles himself back in his chair, and the overhead light is a small and soft brightness dangling over them all.

"Of course," Gheorghe replies, "I would not think it in any other way." He knows the run of things, this one.

"You...certain?" Martin asks, and Deidre finds she needs more tea—something tight has unwound in her throat.

"Sure, yeah."

"Yes."

There's rain now, a fine mist of it smudging the window. If it were earlier in the day, Deidre could have looked out and seen a watercolour painting in the making from her seat. But the night is gentle nonetheless as it falls against her eyes, and if Deidre turns a careful ear, she can hear the sheep bleating to one another in the barn, all snug and cozy in the hay, just as they are here in the kitchen with their tea.

"Mind you take care of things," Deidre finally says. Johnny and his Da are talking about cheese and wool and the best hours for selling—or at least Johnny talks, while Martin nods and pushes out the occasional word or two when he can—it's only Gheorghe who hears. That's fine. "There's room been made for this, so I expect things to keep."

His eyes flick up to meet hers, looking at a woman with lines pressed on her face, and grey woven in her hair, and a lifetime of care held in the hands wrapped around an old cup. "I think it will," Gheorghe says softly. He places his palm over hers, and pulls away. No one will know it but themselves. 

A moment later, Gheorghe's hands resume their circle around his cup again, cupping the warmth they have no need for, but seek nonetheless. "Now at least that we've got the hang of things," he says, offhand. But crinkles appear at the corners of his eyes, his mouth—nose twitching in that funny way of his when something is set on tickling it. First time he's done so with Deidre. "Well, that is...mostly," and suddenly Deidre feels her own mouth tuck itself into a smile, her eyes following suit—and they're sitting here, Gheorghe and her, both tickled silly, chuckling over their tea, and Johnny and his Da twist out of their talking and turn into theirs, and want to know what the joke is.

Is it? Probably not, but it's something they can spare a laugh over now, nonetheless. Time's good that way.

And when the conversation turns, and interest shifts to other things, Deidre touches the second place ribbon absentmindedly. The ruffles tickle the tips of her fingers, and catch on the ends of her nails.

She'll stick it somewhere where she can see it. Perhaps on that new fridge.


End file.
